


Fates Conspiring I thru III

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 19:06:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11341491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Krycek considers his role in Scully's upcoming abduction and confronts his feelings for Mulder.





	Fates Conspiring I thru III

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Fates Conspiring I: Parallels by Rosalita

ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Fates Conspiring I: Parallels  
by Rosalita  
  
Rating: NC17 Slash  
Category: SR  
Summary: Slash. Mulder/Krycek. Krycek considers his role in Scully's upcoming abduction and confronts his feelings for Mulder. Takes place between "Duane Barry" and "Ascension."  
Boring but necessary disclaimer: Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox Broadcasting. I'm just having a little fun with them. No copyright infringement is intended.  
This is definitely NC-17 and contains graphic depictions of m/m sex. If you are underage or if the idea of two beautiful men making love bothers you, don't read this. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Flames will be ignored. Comments may be sent to 

* * *

Fates Conspiring I: Parallels  
by Rosalita

The cruelest lies are often told in silence.  
      --Robert Louis Stevenson

Richmond, Virginia  
August 7, 1994

The show's over. The only indication that something big happened here today is the crowd of law enforcement officers, the ambulance and the flashing lights. The crowd is beginning to thin and soon the gawkers will go home to tell their friends and families that They Were There. The phone lines will be buzzing tonight and tomorrow they'll gather their office buddies around them and talk in animated tones about the escaped mental patient who had taken hostages in a travel agency.

They'll laughingly tell their rapt audience that the nut thought he'd been abducted by aliens. Maybe they'll speak in awe of the FBI agent who traded himself for a wounded hostage and helped bring an end to the stand-off. My partner, Fox Mulder.

>From where I'm standing I can see Mulder talking to his ex-partner Dana Scully. I'm too far away to hear them but I can see that Mulder is shook up. They watch the ambulance containing the hostage taker, Duane Barry, pull away and then Scully walks toward me.

"Mulder says you're staying in town tonight. What hotel?"

"The Marriott."

The redheaded agent raises one eyebrow in amusement. "Nice. I'll bet Mulder didn't pick it."

I laugh. Mulder is notorious around the Bureau for his bad taste in two things: ties and hotels. "Actually, Agent Kazdin recommended it. It's close to the crime scene and the hospital."

Her eyes drift over to Mulder, who hasn't moved. She knows his moods. She worked with Mulder for over a year, investigating the paranormal cases that no one else wanted called the X-Files. 

"I have to go back to Washington tonight. Take him to the hotel and please make sure he gets some sleep. He's wired and he'll stay up all night if you let him." Her look and her tone indicate I won't have an easy job of it.

"I will. Have a safe trip back."

*****

"Going to get some ice," I yell to Mulder through the closed bathroom door. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"Yeah," comes the muffled reply. "Iced tea if they've got it. Coke, if not."

I grab the ice bucket and walk down the hall. Arriving in the alcove, I pull out my cell phone and dial my boss' number. 

"Where are you?" He asks, foregoing all niceties.

"Still in Richmond, at the Marriott. We'll wrap up the case and head back to Washington tomorrow."

"And Duane Barry?"

"In the hospital. He was shot during the tactical assault; he's critical; they don't know if he'll live." 

"He'll live," he says cryptically. I wonder what he knows about Duane Barry. I don't dare ask.

"How much does Mulder know about Barry?" he continues and I can hear him lighting a cigarette, blowing out smoke.

"A lot. Barry told him about his abduction experiences and Mulder believed him."

An expletive sounds on the other end of the phone, then an aggrieved sigh. "I thought we'd taken care of Mulder by shutting down the X-Files. Yet he still manages to become involved in paranormal cases. I see that more drastic measures are in order."

Closing my eyes, I sway a little and grip the phone more tightly. <Please don't ask me to kill him.>

The voice on the phone goes on, "Duane Barry's looking for someone to take his place. Perhaps we should supply him with a candidate."

"Mulder?" I ask, hoping he doesn't catch the fear in my voice.

"No, he's too high profile. I was thinking of Agent Scully. You were right when you said she was a problem. So we'll take care of it. We'll arrange to have her "abducted" in Barry's place. Mulder will fall to pieces. He'll see it as his sister's abduction happening all over again. It will destroy him. I should have thought of this before. It was a mistake sending Scully to assist Mulder. A mistake that will be rectified. Two birds with one stone." 

My superior is gambling on Mulder's equating Scully's disappearance with that of his eight year old sister 22 years ago. He was there that night and unable to prevent her from being taken. It's haunted him ever since. If, once again, someone Mulder cares for is taken from him and he is powerless to stop it, it could very well devastate him. On the other hand, finding his sister is the reason Mulder got involved in the X-Files. If Scully is missing as well, it might just make him even more determined.

It's not my place to voice these thoughts, so instead I ask, "What do you want me to do?"

"You're to keep Mulder from rescuing Scully by any means necessary." The click signaled the end of the conversation.

Mulder is still in the shower when I get back. Good, I wasn't gone as long as I thought. I set his iced tea down on the table near his laptop. The water shuts off. I wonder what he'd do if I went in and offered to help him dry off? Shoot me, probably. I snicker at the image.

"What's so funny, Krycek?" Mulder has just come out of the bathroom, obviously not in a laughing mood. He's clad in a pair of well-worn jeans, the top button undone.

"Nothing." I turn on the TV and settle on one of the beds, trying not to stare at the flat stomach and the thin line of hair trailing down toward his groin. Trying not to imagine going to him and pulling down that zipper. I force myself to look at the television screen. It really wouldn't do for Mulder to catch me staring and licking my lips, would it?

Picking up his iced tea, Mulder mumbles his thanks. I steal a glance at him; he's staring out the window, brooding. I sit, pretending to watch this inane show on television and think about why I'm getting ready to do something that I really don't want to do.

Duty. That's why. It was instilled in me from a very early age. My father worked for the very same people I'm working for now. In name, I'm an FBI agent but I take my orders from a cigarette smoking bastard. The people I work for pulled strings to make sure I got into the academy. When the X-Files were shut down and Mulder and Scully were separated, I was assigned to the partnerless Fox Mulder. I, like Scully, was placed there to keep an eye on Mulder. Unlike Scully, I knew who I was working for.

I still believe what I'm doing is for the good of the country. People like Mulder can't be allowed to discover the truth. It will not set us free. Chaos and anarchy would reign if people ever knew. What "the truth" is, I don't know. I'm too low on the totem pole to be told. I guess I'm not really questioning the ends, I'm questioning the means. 

How do they justify taking Scully just to get to Mulder? Here's something they didn't think through: Scully was assigned to Mulder to assist him and make reports on the validity of his work. In short, to spy on him. To everyone's surprise, she became his greatest ally. Although she plays the sceptic to his believer, she is fiercely loyal to him. Together they have become quite formidable and they have come closer to the truth than he ever did alone. I don't think he is going to take her disappearance lightly. I think this is going to blow up in someone's face. Probably mine.

The phone rings, startling me out of my musing. When Mulder doesn't move to pick it up, I do. I listen for a moment, thank the voice on the other end and hang up. Now Mulder's looking at me expectantly.

"That was Agent Kazdin. Barry's out of surgery, he's still in critical but they think he'll pull through."

Mulder sighs and closes his eyes in relief. "Mulder, you weren't responsible for his getting shot."

"Wasn't I?" He looks at me, his anger at himself plain. "He trusted me. If I'd had more time I think I could have gotten him to surrender. Instead, I sent him over to the door so the snipers could get a clear shot."

"You didn't have a choice. He might have killed you. Scully said..."

Cutting me off, he growled, "I know what Scully said. I know you all think Duane Barry is some kind of psycho. But I believe him. We lost time, Krycek. When the lights went out, we lost time. I looked at my watch. That's what happens when they come."

He's looking at me as if he doesn't expect me to believe him. This is hitting him hard. I had listened while Barry recounted his abduction experiences. He told Mulder he'd seen little girls there and that they'd been hurt by the tests. Mulder must have wondered if his little sister was among those girls.

He looks tired. The circles that have taken up permanent residence under his eyes are even darker than normal. I think he's finally starting to crash from the adrenaline high he had during the hostage situation.

"Hey, it's late, why don't you get some sleep?" That earns me a scowl.

"What are you, my mother?" His comeback lacks its usual bite. Yeah, he's exhausted but fighting sleep for some reason.

I laugh. "No, but Scully made me promise not to let you stay up all night. You don't want me to tell her you wouldn't go to sleep, do you?" 

Scully--the magic word. With a put-upon sigh he says, "Tattletale."

Standing, he strips off his jeans. Underneath he's wearing tight cotton boxers that leave little to the imagination, every line of his groin and muscled upper thighs accentuated. My teeth nearly bite through my lip in the effort to keep from moaning out loud. Hurriedly, I turn off the light and jump into bed before he can see my budding erection.

The crunch of bone hitting metal and then "Goddamn it, Krycek, you trying to kill me?" 

If you only knew. "Sorry, Mulder. Goodnight."

"Yeah."

I don't sleep. All I can think about is Mulder lying in the next bed, half naked. It's not unusual for me to think about this when we're in the same hotel room together but tonight it's especially wearing on my mind. It must be because I know this is the last time we'll be together. After tomorrow, the next time I see him he'll probably kill me. There's no doubt in my mind he'll figure out my part in Scully's abduction. The only question is, how long will it take?

He sighs and rolls onto his back, flinging the covers off in the process. Streetlights from outside the window break up the darkness of the room and I can see an outline of him. He is all angles, sleek lines and intense beauty. I listen to him breathing evenly and think back to the day I first met him.

He had ignored my outstretched hand and my introduction, telling me coldly, "I think there's been some mistake, I work alone." Then he walked away from me as if I were something as insignificant as an insect he'd just squashed. Arrogant bastard. He was gorgeous. I wanted to nail him right then and there. 

I've had that feeling several times over our short partnership. Like today at the pool. When Skinner told me to look for Mulder there, I prayed that he'd still be in the water. I'd heard about his little red speedo from some of the women in the office. When he came out of that water...Christ, I couldn't stop myself from looking. "Little" was not the word for that speedo and it wasn't the word for that bulge I saw either. For the rest of the day, I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. The man managed to look hot even in a paramedic's uniform. Good thing he's oblivious to the effect he has on people.

******

Screaming. At first I think it must be part of the dream I was having but that doesn't make sense. My dream had been pleasant. It was about Mulder. Another scream, this one gutwrenching. Groggy, I turn on the light and what I see snaps me awake. It's Mulder, huddled against the headboard and screaming. Shrieking, actually. I yell his name over and over but I don't think he can hear me. He's whimpering now, sobbing a name. Samantha. His sister.

What the hell am I going to do? I can't just leave him like this. I sit down on his bed, gently wrap my arms around his shaking body and pull his head down to my chest. He tries to break free at first but I hold on tight and whisper nonsense into his ear. I really don't think he realizes who is rocking him, stroking his hair, rubbing his back Clinging to me like a frightened child, he quiets. 

I feel like a jerk for taking advantage of the situation but I can't resist the urge to plant kisses in his hair. So I do. It's soft and feels good against my lips. It tastes clean and I nuzzle it. I gently lay him back on the bed and kiss away the tears on his face. He's not responding and that scares me. My boss told me that Mulder has nightmares but this...Jesus. This is beyond nightmare. No wonder the poor bastard didn't want to go to sleep.

Shaking still, he breathes in gasps, chest heaving. I say his name softly a couple of times. Dark, almost black eyes stare at me. I'm not sure what he sees but I don't think it's me or this room. Reaching out, I run my fingertips over his jaw, the stubble there snagging my skin. God help me, I'm a prick, but I really can't help myself. That quivering lower lip looks so inviting. I run a finger over it. No response. I kiss him. Still nothing. I kiss him again, sucking on the lip, running my tongue over it and then pushing into his pliant mouth. He's responding now! To my complete surprise, he's kissing me back! His tongue pushes lazily into my mouth, his lips working against mine. 

Intent on seeing how far I can get before he realizes what I'm doing and slugs me, I kiss my way down his throat. My fingers glide over his chest, stroking that patch of hair in the center. His breathing changes, not heaving now, more like panting. Encouraged, I lap at his nipples, bringing up the tiny buds. I nip at one and he gasps. His fingers trail through my hair and I know now that he's awake and fully aware of what's happening. 

I rise up and kiss him again. He crushes his lips against mine and almost chokes me with his tongue. Running my hand down his sleek body, I stop at his groin. I caress him through the soft cotton and he pushes against my hand, moaning into my mouth. Man, I never expected this kind of response. 

I tear my mouth away from him so I can breathe. Grinning down at him I say, "Long time, huh, Mulder?" and stroke him with more pressure.

Gasping and squirming, he manages, "Too long." 

The hazel eyes are clear now and alive with raw desire. I'm being drawn into the green blaze and I shake myself free of their lure. Everything he is is in his eyes and I can't look at them.

His hands reach for me but I don't want that, not yet. Somehow the thought of taking pleasure from him makes me feel more like pond scum than I already feel. I want to drown him in sensation. I need to do this. I need to hear him screaming in pleasure instead of terror and pain. Pushing his hands away, I lower my head and lick his belly in concentric circles, twirling my tongue in his navel. Gripping the waistband of his boxers, I slowly pull them down, torturing us both.

He lifts his hips to help me. Spreads his legs for me. Willing. Slowly, I lick my way up the lean limbs, concentrating for a long time on his inner thighs before kissing the head of his hard cock. The tip is wet and I taste it, savoring him. Sharp and exotic. This is going to be my only chance and I want to do it right. I've never wanted anyone this badly. The realization of it shakes me.

His hands are in my hair again, urging me to take him. I pull out of his grasp and tease him, nuzzling and touching him everywhere except the place he most wants to be touched. He moans my name and I reward him by brushing his cock with tantalizingly light fingers. I keep up this exquisite torment until his whole body is trembling with need.

Relenting, I slide my hands under his ass and lift him, my mouth engulfing his raging penis. He groans loudly and thrusts roughly into my mouth, gagging me. I try to pull back a little but his grip in my hair is strong and he won't let me move. Okay, I deserve this. I worked him into this frenzy, didn't I? I relax my throat and allow him to set the pace. A few more thrusts and he comes with a scream, filling my mouth with his essence.

Recovering quickly, he rolls me over and lies on top of me. With a sexy grin, he sidles down my body, pulls off my briefs and wastes no time going for my painful erection. A jolt shoots through me when his mouth takes me. Hot and sweet. His clever tongue flicks over the sensitive head and slides slowly down the shaft.

Now this is interesting. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

His eyes, brilliantly green, dance with amusement at the accusation in my words. "Surprised?"

"Um...yeah, actually, I am." My voice rises in pitch as he takes me again.

I don't want to end it in his mouth but I don't want him to stop either. The knowledge that this is Fox Mulder doing this to me and the sight of my cock sliding in and out past those perfect lips does me in. I'm close to coming and he knows it. Pulling his head away from my groin, he dodges me as I try to pull him back. A sly grin spreads across his face.

"Payback's a bitch, Alex." Voice so sultry it sends delightful shivers down my spine.

Alex? I wonder what would happen if I called him Fox. I decide not to test him. Besides, he's doing very imaginative things to me with his mouth and hands. Those hands. I often studied them while he was driving or gesturing to punctuate his speech and imagined what they would feel like on my body. I groan and beg him to finish what he started.

He's good, very good and within seconds I'm coming with a shout that rivals his from moments before. I urge him up to me and kiss him, wanting to taste myself on his tongue. He settles down, his head on my chest, fingers delicately stroking. 

I have no idea what to say and it's apparent that he doesn't either so we lie there together quietly. I want to ask him about his dream but I'm afraid it will spoil the mood. Maybe I should ask him what this means. Pointless. It means nothing. It can't mean anything, even though I want it to. This time tomorrow, his life will be changed. So will mine. So will Scully's. Maybe I should run. Then I won't have to do this thing. Stupid. They would find me and it would make no difference anyway. The plan is already in motion and I have to be there to play my part. 

My boss thinks Mulder is dangerous. I think he's afraid of Mulder. And perhaps he should be because Mulder is like a wildfire, an intense conflagration that consumes everything in its path until in the end it smolders. Mulder is smoldering now. But in every smoldering fire there is the danger of a lingering spark waiting for a gust of wind to set it ablaze again. I think taking Scully will be that gust of wind.

This thought makes me hug him closer to me. He chuckles and kisses me, his whole body moving against mine. I'm hard again and so is he. Our erections press together and stroke across one another. Flesh to flesh. Soul to soul? Maybe. But no use thinking about that. I sigh and he stops moving.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lie. This is all a lie. A lie that I'm telling him with my body. And I can't stop myself. Instead, I run my hands down his back and cup his buttocks, pulling him even closer to me. 

Rolling him over, I whisper in his ear, "I want to be in you. Please." 

Jesus, even I can hear how desperate I sound. Is he willing to go that far? I feel his answer as long legs snake around my waist and he pulls me hard against him.

"I hope you have condoms," he says lightly. "I'd hate to have to find an all-night drugstore in this condition."

"Never leave home without them," I joke as I unwrap myself from his embrace.

Raising up on his elbows, he watches me as I rummage in my bag. After a brief but thorough ransacking, I wave the condoms and KY at him triumphantly. The hazel eyes track me as I return to the bed and kneel between his legs. Our kiss is long and deep. Smiling at me, he takes the condom and tortuously rolls it on me. His hands are shaking. Desire? Nervousness? Probably both. God knows, I feel both. Soft lips touch my belly, my thighs as his talented hands coat my cock with lubricant.

Still smiling, he lays back and pulls me with him, lifting his legs, giving himself to me. I can't move; I'm completely overwhelmed. I can't believe he's going to let me do this. 

Noticing my hesitation, he reaches for me, caressing my face with the backs of his fingertips. "It's okay, Alex. I want this. I want you."

Is that his lust talking or something more? Not that it matters. Nothing really matters now except this moment. I'll think about the rest tomorrow, like Scarlett O'Hara. That thought makes me laugh.

Mulder gives me a quizzical look and I shake my head. His slim, elegant hands are traveling all over me and his body is rocking against mine. I can't wait any longer. I push his legs back and enter him gently, slowly. He tenses at the invasion, but then relaxes and opens his body to me. He's tight, so tight...and hot. I can feel the heat of him through the condom. Pushing all the way in, I stop and lower my body onto his, just lying there, allowing him to feel me filling him. He fits me so well. Like the proverbial glove. 

I could lie like this all night. But Mulder begins to thrust against me so I raise myself and counter his motion, moving in him hard and slow. One graceful hand slides down his body to grip his own cock. I allow him to stroke himself a few times before I grab his wrists and pin them above his head. The sudden restraint arouses him further; I can feel his hardness pressing against my belly.

The coming sun casts a soft glow across his flushed skin, contrasting with the sharp light coming from the lamp. His eyes are closed and he's panting in short gasps that sound almost like little cries. He's close. Quickening my pace, I push deeper into him, wishing I could crawl all the way inside him. Moans of my own are tearing from my throat now, sensation ripping through my mind and fire dancing across my skin. 

"Open your eyes," I entreat him. He does and they're almost glowing with the intensity of his passion. I let go of his wrists and crush him to me in a rough embrace. Sealing my lips to his, I scream into his mouth as I explode, bursts of colors before my eyes. Distantly, I hear Mulder's muffled cries and feel his body spasming around me and through me. Sweet pain lances my shoulder as his teeth sink in. Incredibly, the tightening of his muscles around me wrings a second, shorter, but no less intense, orgasm from me. 

When I can move again, I withdraw, resulting in a soft mournful cry from him. I reach overhead and turn off the light over the bed. I want to look at him bathed in light from the sun that is painting lines across his body. He's lying on his back, eyes closed, long arms and legs strewn in every direction. He's so beautiful he can't be real. This has to be some incredible wet dream and I'm going to wake up any minute.

His eyes suddenly open and he sits up, one finger reaching out to trace his teeth marks on my shoulder. Something to remember him by.

"And they told me your bark is worse than your bite," I say playfully.

"Did it hurt?" His voice is quiet; he seems embarrassed by his loss of control and this physical evidence of our lovemaking.

"No, I liked it." I run my fingers through the thick brown hair and kiss him very hard. Burying my face in his neck, I inhale. He smells like sweat and sex and mystery. I'm getting aroused again. He's driving me crazy. It may be a good thing that I won't be around much longer. I'm in danger of losing myself in him. 

Mulder takes my hand and leads me toward the bathroom. We both stumble into the warm water and wash each other. We fool around some in the shower, mostly just kissing and touching, too exhausted for it to lead any further.

Sadness that I feel down to my soul suddenly grips me and he notices, of course. Can't get much past him. Wrapping me in an embrace, he asks me what's wrong. I shake my head. He understands. A master at hiding his own emotions, he recognizes the need in others.

My boss has used many words to describe Fox Mulder--brilliant, tenacious, paranoid, pain-in-the-ass and a host of other less than charitable adjectives. But never gentle, never vulnerable. These traits rarely slip past that in-your-face facade he wears at work. The fact that he's allowing me to see them is a testament of his trust in me. 

Mulder doesn't give his trust easily. I suddenly feel the urge to run. Run before he realizes his trust has been misplaced. Instead I pull away from him and step out of the tub.

His damned eyes never leave me as I grab a towel. Looking as confused as I feel, he follows me out of the shower, takes the towel from me and starts drying me off. Kneeling to concentrate on my legs and without looking at me, he asks shyly, "So what are we going to do now?"

Figures he'd ask the one question I've been dreading. 

"I don't know. Get a little sleep before we have to go to work?" That's right, I'll pretend I don't know what he means.

Laughing and gesturing to indicate our current state of undress and then shoving me out of the bathroom and tossing me onto the tangled mess of a bed, he says patiently, "No, I mean this. What are we going to do about this? I don't know about you but I never planned on us going to bed together. How the hell did this get started anyway?"

Is this a rhetorical question? No, I can see that he really wants to know, that he doesn't remember. He joins me on the bed as I ponder what to tell him. I owe it to him to tell him what truth I can.

"You were having a nightmare, a bad one. Don't you remember?"

"No. It was probably about Samantha. A lot of times I don't remember those." 

I would have been jealous of the woman's name had I not known he was talking about his sister. Still, I'm not sure how much knowledge I should reveal. Playing dumb seems to be the best route. "Samantha, that was your sister, right?"

Eyes hardening and voice dropping low and dangerous, he says only "Don't."

Oh, shit. Wrong route. I've pissed him off. I've been on the receiving end of his white-hot anger before, and don't want to be there again. Especially not now. Before I can say anything, he's right in my face.

"Don't play stupid and don't pretend you don't know anything about my sister! I know that I'm number one on the gossip hit parade. Do you think I don't know what they're saying? 'Spooky thinks his sister was abducted by aliens,'" he mimics savagely.

Flinging himself off the bed, he stands at the window, pretending to admire the view of the lovely parking deck below. I let him brood for a few minutes, then get up and stand behind him, wrapping him in my arms, enjoying the warmth of his body against mine.

Biting softly at his left shoulder, I whisper, "I'm sorry." This one apology covering the litany of my sins against him.

He laughs a little and turns around in my arms. "Trying to give me a matching bite?"

After two months of working with him, I'm still not used to his sudden mood changes. I bet if I looked up the word mercurial in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Mulder. 

I kiss him and lead him back to the bed. Piling the pillows against the headboard, I scoot up so I can sit against them. He joins me there, sitting next to me, our shoulders touching. 

With a teasing lilt, he says, "You know, I still can't quite figure out how we got into the same bed."

Should I tell him about the screaming? No, it would embarrass him and he can probably figure it out for himself. "Well, you seemed pretty upset and I was trying to calm you down."

"Oh really? Is that what you call it?"

I snort with laughter. Damn him. "Okay, things got a little out of hand."

"Seems to me things were well in hand." 

To illustrate his words, he teasingly strokes my extremely sensitive cock, which jumps in arousal. I could really get used to this.

I groan, "No more, Mulder, please. I can't take it."

"Oh, I'll bet you could." But he lets me go. "You never answered my question."

"What question?" Playing dumb again.

"What are we going to do?" he repeats softly.

What can I say to him? Now I go off and help kidnap your ex-partner and leave you to suffer and blame yourself? How about: I want to love you but there's no future for us. Or: Run away with me now so I don't have to betray you. 

Instead I say, "What do you think?"

He sighs and wrestles me down so that we're lying face to face. <Don't look at me. How can I lie to you when those eyes that see everything are looking right at me?>

Fingers reach out and stroke my hair, my face. "I think you don't want to talk about this. Maybe you're right. Maybe we both need to think. Let's get a little sleep and talk about it later."

I nod and he snuggles against me. Odd, I never would have figured him for a snuggler. Surprisingly, he drops off quickly. I hold him close to me as silent tears track down my face. Tears shed for the life with Mulder that I caught a glimpse of but that is just out of my reach. 

He's so warm and he feels so right lying in my arms. I could do this every day for the rest of my life but that isn't going to happen. I wish I were someone else, not Alex Krycek, so I would be allowed to love this man. I remember a conversation with Mulder about the Star Trek episode in which the crew encountered a parallel universe. It was late and we were on a stakeout and were getting punchy from lack of sleep. The conversation started semi-seriously, with us imagining what our counterparts were like. It soon turned silly and we ended up inventing completely ridiculous Mulders and Kryceks who inhabited some very strange universes. 

I hope there exists at least one universe in which Alex Krycek and Fox Mulder are lovers. One universe where there is no betrayal, no pain, no nightmares, no cigarette-smoking bosses, no redheaded FBI agents waiting to be abducted and no younger sisters who have disappeared. 

Because it sure isn't this one. 

End.

 

* * *

 

ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Fates Conspiring II: Confines  
by Rosalita  
  
Rating: NC17 Slash  
Category: SR  
Summary: Slash. Mulder/Krycek. While confined to a Russian prison, Mulder and Krycek discuss Krycek's betrayal and their previous relationship. Takes place during "Tunguska/Terma."  
Boring but necessary disclaimer: Fox Mulder and Alex Krycek belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and Fox Broadcasting. I'm just having a little fun with them. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Distribute as you'd like as long as my name and all disclaimers are attached.  
This is a sequel to "Parallels" and is the second story in the series "Fates Conspiring." You kind of do need to read "Parallels" first because the events of that story are discussed here. You can find it on the Gossamer archives or you can e-mail me for a copy.  
This is definitely NC-17 and contains graphic depictions of m/m sex. If you are underage or if the idea of two beautiful men making love bothers you, don't read this. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Flames will be ignored. Comments may be sent to   
Spoilers: "Tunguska," "Terma."

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Fates Conspiring II: Confines  
by Rosalita

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned.  
      --William Congreve

Prologue  
August 9, 1994

It was the cigarette butt in the ashtray of Alex's car that clued me in. Morley's. Cancer Man's drug of choice. 

I really don't know how long I sat there holding the noxious thing, trying not to cry--or vomit. My mind ran around in circles, chasing its own tail as the memories of the other night in Richmond assaulted me.

My damned memory will drive me insane some day, I'm convinced of it. To this day, I can remember everything that happened with perfect clarity. I remember what his skin felt like next to mine, how soft his hair was, what he smelled like, tasted like, looked like. How he made love to me, gentle and rough at the same time, devouring me. God, it had been so good.

Shit, my left hand hurt. Oh, no wonder, I was slamming it again and again into the steering wheel. Damn you, Krycek. I thought .... Well, it really doesn't matter what I thought, does it? The whole thing was a set up, wasn't it? No doubt Cancer Man would show up soon with pictures or a tape and ruin me. Or maybe it was just a way to make me trust Alex more. Or keep me away from D.C. so they could get Scully. 

No wonder he'd been so reluctant to talk about it afterward. He knew--the son of a bitch was in on the whole thing. Was he working on the plan the whole time he was fucking me? It was obvious now that he'd killed the tram operator *and* Duane Barry-- all to keep me from getting to Scully. He'd been so very considerate, bringing me coffee, driving me home ... He'd even stayed with me for a few hours. 

Bastard. Son of a bitch.

People on the sidewalk were giving the car a wide berth. Had I yelled out loud? Jesus, I was losing it. I had to get out of that car. I put one of the cigarette butts in a plastic evidence bag and got out. No way was I driving the damned thing back. Let it get towed. I took a taxi back to the office to present my evidence to Skinner and then go and personally arrest the rat myself. 

No such luck. The bastard had skipped town.

  
Tunguska, Siberia  
November 24, 1996

The Fates, like everyone else, are out to get me. The web of my life is being spun and it seems that Alex Krycek is entangled in its strands. Why else would we be constantly thrown together?

He was the last person I expected to see outside of my apartment the night after my father's death. He was the last person I expected to see in that dark room in Hong Kong--the last person I expected to be sharing a damp, cold, small Russian prison cell with. 

Yet there he was. Him. Every damned time. 

As soon as I have finally convinced myself that all I feel for him is hatred, he shows up and proves me wrong. Again.Then, he disappears, leaving me to start the process all over again and sort out the viper's nest of my feelings for him. 

I thought I'd never see him again after the last time. Then, I started getting those receipts. I think I knew all along who was sending them. I didn't tell Scully my suspicions, she'd have thought I was crazy. Still, when I pulled him from that truck, I wasn't prepared for the explosion of emotions that rocked me. Anger, hatred, fear, relief that he wasn't dead. 

And, on top of it all, lust. I could finally admit it because I really didn't have anything else to do. It wasn't the anger or the fear or the hatred that made me hit him and keep hitting him. It was the lust. I slapped him around because the alternative was to crush him with kisses. I hated him for making me feel it. After everything he'd done and against all reason, I wanted him in equal measures of the hatred I felt for him.

"You okay, Mulder?" I jerked at the deceptively soft sound of his voice.

"Yeah, why?" I grunted.

"You were staring off into space. I thought maybe you were zoning out on me or something. That head wound looks nasty."

So solicitous, so full of shit. My head did hurt though. I hadn't really noticed it until he mentioned it. Thanks, Krycek.

"It's okay," I said, really looking at him for the first time in two years. He looked harder, but no less innocent. If you didn't know better, you'd never believe what he was capable of. You'd be deceived by the good looks, the well-made body, the pointed ears that made him look ridiculously elfin. You'd be fooled by the green eyes and long lashes that he fluttered to his advantage. Yeah, you'd be fooled, just like I was. And, damn him, he's still doing it. And I'm still falling for it.

Jesus, I am so screwed up. This man is a killer. He killed my father, he killed the tram operator and Duane Barry. Worst of all, he aided in Scully's abduction. He's a traitor who works for the highest bidder. 

I trusted him and he betrayed me. 

My returning anger must have been obvious because he was looking at me fearfully--the way a rat would look at the cat who was about to end its miserable life.

"You going to hit me again?"

"Not right now. Let's talk."

"What? Now?"

"You got something better to do?" I made a display of looking around at the dingy walls and bare floor, and locked steel door of the cell. "This could be our only chance. You owe me, Krycek." 

I saw him nod in the rapidly dimming light. The sun was going down and there was no glass in the small window to protect us from the frigid Russian night. The concrete walls and floor of the cell would suck up the heat from our bodies. It was going to be a miserable night.

"All right. But you stay over there. I'm tired of being your punching bag."

That almost sent me across the small cell after him again and he knew it. He flinched. It gave me a sharp thrill to know he was afraid of me. 

"After everything you've done," I told him, "I think I'm entitled to get a few licks in, don't you?"

With a sigh, he drew his legs up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "What do you want to know?"

As if he had no idea. "Why don't we start with my father?"

He sighed again, "I didn't kill him." He seemed tired of saying it. Well, I was tired of asking it and getting lies for answers.

"So you've said. Now convince me that it's true."

"Why bother? You won't believe anything I say." 

He had the nerve to sound bitter. To look bitter. As if I was doing him an injustice.

For the sake of argument I said, "Okay. If you didn't kill him, who did?"

"Luis."

"Cardinal?" I spat out. "Isn't it convenient to have a dead man to blame your crimes on." Lying bastard. 

"It's true, Mulder. My boss--the man you call Cancer Man--ordered it. He thought your father was going to tell you everything. I was there that night but I didn't kill him, Mulder, I swear."

"You swear? You amoral piece of scum, I doubt you believe anything or hold anything precious enough to swear on it."

In a voice filled with more anger and pain than I'd have believed it possible for him to feel, he ground out, "You self-righteous bastard. What the hell do you know about what I believe or what I hold precious? You don't know anything. What do you hold precious, Mulder? Some abstract notion of the truth? A notion that you chase after so damned blindly that you've never stopped to consider what could happen if you find it and expose it."

"What do you mean? I expose it and them and it stops, the abductions stop, the experiments stop and the men who are doing this are brought to justice."

"And your sister comes back and it's all happily ever after. You really do live in a fantasy world, Mulder." He said softly, without scorn, reminding me of how gentle he could be. I pushed that thought aside. He was still talking.

"I already told you, Mulder--there is no truth. These men can *not* be brought to justice. You have such a boy scout's view of the world. I envy you for it. Do you really think you can walk up to them and say, 'Federal agent, you're under arrest' and they're going to go with you peacefully?"

He looked at me intently for a few moments before continuing, "I suppose that's what makes you so relentless, this conviction you have that you're doing the right thing. Well, here's a news flash for you--Cancer Man thinks he's doing the right thing, too. It all depends on which side of the fence you're standing on."

He paused and laughed shortly. "He told me once that you had your gun in his face and you let him go. You should have killed him when you had the chance. They'd respect you more if you had. But you couldn't, could you? Because you're not a killer, are you, Mulder?"

"No."

"Good. Don't let them make you into something you're not." An almost regretful tone had crept into his voice.

"Is that what they did to you?"

"Maybe," he allowed. It was more of an answer than I'd expected.

He was reeling me in. I could feel the hook tugging at me but I couldn't stop myself from asking, "Why, Krycek? Why work for them?"

At first I thought he wouldn't answer me but then he said, "My father worked for them. I grew up with secrets and lies and I suppose it was natural for me to go to work for them, too. They got me into the academy, told me to sit tight, do my job well and wait for an assignment. Then I got one. You. They were pissed that planting Scully on you wasn't working. You and she worked well together, so well, in fact, that you were actually doing better work with her than without her. So they closed down the X-Files and separated the two of you. That didn't slow you down either. Somehow, you were still getting involved in paranormal cases. So they send me to watch you."

"So you took Scully's place in more ways than one, huh?"

"Scully never knew what her real purpose was. And in any case, she didn't live up to expectations."

"Is that why they took her?"

"No. They took her to destroy you, plain and simple. It had nothing to do with her at all. They took her because they thought you would equate her abduction with your sister's and fall apart. But that didn't happen--not by a long shot. You were even more determined, which is exactly what I thought would happen."

His voice was almost admiring, still turning that reel. I couldn't breathe. Jesus, God. It was true. They took Scully, hurt her, to get to me. To stop me. And I'd known all along that it could happen. 

And I never warned her, never told her the possibilities because I was afraid she'd leave and I'd be alone again. 

Skinner was right, I was just as responsible for what happened to her as Cancer Man.

I let out my breath. "If it was me they were after, why not just kill me? Why drag her into this?"

"I asked him that once. He gave me some line about how killing you would make you a martyr. It sounded like a lot of bullshit to me. You're important to them for some reason, Mulder. You're involved in this in some way--you're part of this "truth" you're searching for."

"Do you know what it is? Do you know what they're doing?"

"Of course not. Do you think they'd tell me a thing like that? I was just a foot soldier." He paused, considering. "I know it's big. Big enough to topple governments, big enough to change everything we know."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Yes." Simple, sure.

"Why are you telling me this? What turned you against them?"

He laughed. "They tried to kill me. Isn't that enough? I guess the beginning of my disenchantment was Scully's abduction ..."

"Oh, please, Krycek, don't bother, okay?"

"It's true, Mulder. I saw no reason for it. She was innocent. I know you don't believe this, but I never wanted to hurt her."

"Then why didn't you tell me? You could have warned me before it happened. You could have told me after it happened. You deliberately stopped me from getting to her."

"That was my job, Mulder. Stopping you. Besides, telling you wouldn't have made any difference and it might have gotten her killed. What they want to do, they do."

There was probably truth in that. I wished there was more light so I could see his face, see if he was lying. Not that seeing him would do any good. For someone who was known for picking up on the duplicity of others, I was never able to see his lies. And lies were all I ever got from him. Lies on top of deceptions on top of deceit. 

"Was it your job to seduce me? Did he order you to do it? Were you making plans the entire time you were fucking me?"

"Keep your voice down," he hissed.

I hadn' t realized I was shouting. I wrapped my arms tightly around my body, trying to keep from exploding from the white-hot anger that was burning in me like a fever. The urge to beat him to a bloody fucking pulp was nearly overwhelming.

"And no, he had nothing to do with it, Mulder."

"Then why?" Nobody had ever made love to me like that. I had to know if it was real.

"Look, Mulder, I'm tired, I want to go to sleep. Drop it, okay?"

Drop it? I wish I could. Never mind that it was the best sex I'd ever had and nothing since could compare to it. Never mind that for two years I'd had uncountable erotic dreams featuring Alex Krycek. Never mind that my favorite masturbation fantasy was no fantasy at all but memories of our one night together. 

Of course, I wasn't going to tell him that. 

"We're probably going to die here, Krycek. What difference do your secrets make now? Tell me why."

"Don't you know, Mulder? Can't you guess? For someone who is supposed to be so smart, you can be so dense..." He trailed off, unwilling to finish.

"What?" I whispered. "Damn it, tell me."

He sighed, seeming to come to a decision. "I loved you; I still do."

I was stunned into silence. He loves me? I would rather have heard him say that he did it just to keep me in line. That was what I'd prepared myself to hear. That was what I'd imagined to be the truth. I wasn't willing to accept this, I couldn't accept this. To accept it meant I had to admit to myself ... No! He was lying. Wasn't he?

"You've got a funny way of showing it," I said. "Do you have any idea how I felt when I found that cigarette butt in your car? The whole time you were making love to me, you were planning the abduction of my partner. Everything that happened that night was just an act." 

I was shouting again and then he was shouting.

"It wasn't an act, Mulder. Did it feel like a lie to you? You keep talking about what it did to you. How do you think I felt, knowing full well how much you were going to hate me. It was so hard, sharing a hotel room with you--lying in the next bed inches from you, wanting you so badly and knowing I could never have you." 

He quieted down, continuing, "That night, you woke up screaming. I've never seen anyone have a nightmare like that. I don't think you even knew where you were. Yeah, sure--I took advantage of the situation--started touching you. I was sure you were going to knock the shit out of me as soon as you realized what I was doing. But you didn't. Instead, you kissed me. And before I knew it, we were making love. It was a miracle to me. I knew nothing could ever come of it, even though I had never wanted anything more in my entire life." 

He drew a ragged breath. "I thought about telling you the truth. I had this stupid fantasy that if I did and you were able to save Scully, you'd help me get away from the Consortium and we could be together. But I knew it would never happen; I was locked in--no escape. So I tried to give you as much pleasure as I possibly could that night. I wanted you to have at least one good memory of me."

He lapsed into silence. I just sat, the cold from the concrete floor seeping through my jeans. The moon had risen and enough light streamed through the tiny barred window that I could just see his outline. Why did he do this to me? And why did I believe him when I know he's a liar? 

Because I knew, in spite of what I said, that our lovemaking was real. I've known it all along. I denied it because it hurt too much to think that he could love me and still do the things he did. And that I could love him and hate him at the same time. Of course, love and hate often walk hand-in-hand, don't they? 

Clouds had covered the moon and it was dark in the cell. I was cold even with my thick sweater and he had only a thin t-shirt. I felt my way over to his side of the cell, telling myself that I couldn't let him freeze. Funny, I didn't have a problem letting him freeze on Skinner's balcony. 

That was different. That was Crystal City, Virginia, not a cell in Russia where it was so dark I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. That night I wasn't cold and scared, waiting to be tortured or experimented on, waiting to die.

He heard me coming. "Stay away from me, Mulder," he growled through chattering teeth.

"Relax," I said soothingly and sat down beside him, pressing against his back, wrapping him in my arms. He was shivering with cold--and possibly with fear.

He stiffened and tried to pull away. "What the hell are you doing?"

"C'mon Krycek, you're freezing and it's not going to get any warmer in here."

"What do you care?" he snarled but didn't move away.

I care. I wish like hell I didn't. 

We sat in silence for a long time. I could feel his skin warming but he hadn't stopped shaking. He had turned slightly, burying his head in my sweater, as if trying to hide from something. His breathing had become panting, the beginnings of hyperventilation.

"Calm down," I told him, rubbing his back lightly. "What's wrong?"

He drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "This place. The dark, the cold. It reminds me of.... He left me there, Mulder. Left me there to die. I didn't think I'd ever get out." 

He was panting even harder now, sobbing. I should have realized what being in this cell would do to him after having been trapped in that silo. He'd held on during the day, in the light, but now the darkness had come and he had no defense against it. I fully understood. I hate the dark, too.

"Krycek, you're going to pass out if you don't calm down." I held him tighter, rocking him. "It's okay, I'm here. You're not alone." I don't know how long we sat like that, how long I whispered reassurance, but gradually he calmed and fell silent.

"Do you really think we're going to die?" He asked, his voice startling me.

"I don't know." 

But I did know. I saw no other possibility. Certainly the unknown man in the next cell thought so. And the chances of being rescued were mighty damned slim. Scully only knew that we were in Tunguska. She had no idea we'd gotten thrown into a gulag. Not that she'd be surprised when she found out. Wincing, I imagined what she'd say to me if we did get out of here. Maybe dying wasn't so bad. 

The man in my arms had stopped shivering. His relaxed, even breathing made me think he was asleep. As much as I hated admitting it, he felt good in my arms. Solid and muscular. I stealthily explored those muscles, lightly tracing his large biceps and sliding my hands down his chest and stomach, delighting in the feel of his well-defined pecs and ridged abs. 

I was wrong in thinking he was asleep. His hand closed over mine and pushed it down to his lap urging me to feel his half-formed erection. Body twisting in my grasp he grabbed the back of my head, pulling me into a brutal, lovely kiss. His tongue swirled around and around in my mouth while his lips worried at mine, almost bruising them in his ardor. 

I tried to pull away but he came with me and we both toppled to the hard floor. He pushed up my sweater and t-shirt and began tonguing my nipples. Damn him, he knew exactly what I liked and I couldn't suppress a moan. I was being pulled into the storm of him. I warred with myself, wanting him so badly and trying so hard not to. It was the third participant in this battle, Krycek, who was winning. He was taking me over, taking my will, leaving me with a body that didn't know that it should hate him. It only knew how good his mouth and hands felt. 

"You've been working out, Mulder," he murmured with approval as his hands stroked every place on my body they could reach, eventually stopping at my groin, caressing me through my jeans. I won't, I won't let him know how good it feels. My mind couldn't get that message to my traitorous body quickly enough to prevent it from arching up to meet his hand. I heard him laugh softly in the darkness and felt him unbutton my pants. If I wanted to get control of this situation, now was the time. I grabbed his arms and rolled, landing on top of him. 

My lips sought his in the darkness; he tasted the same as he had two years before. I was glad for the darkness now, glad that he couldn't see my sadness for the loss of what could have been. I didn't need to see him, my senses were filled with the feel of smooth, sinewy skin under my hands and tongue. I could smell him, it was the same earthy smell he'd always had. I could hear his quick panting breaths, his gasps when I did something he really liked. 

Unbuttoning his jeans, I pulled them down to his knees before taking his cock in my hand and rubbing it in slow up and down strokes. I lightly licked the insides of his thighs, the crisp hair there rough against my tongue. I moved on to his balls, sucking on them, licking them. My fingers squeezed his silky, rigid cock which was slick with the fluid that was seeping from it. My tongue flicked over the head, taking some of the salty wetness away.

"Jesus, Mulder," he breathed.

"Do you still want me to stop touching you, Krycek?" It felt so good having him in my power, I couldn't resist teasing him. I removed my hand.

"Don't you dare," he whimpered.

"What do you want, Krycek?" I bent over him and blew on his cock.

"You know."

"Do you want me to suck you?" I blew on it again.

"Yes." Almost a sob.

"Are you sure?" A quick flick of the tongue against the head.

"Yes, damn it!"

"Say please." I traced one finger along the underside from base to head.

"Bastard!" 

"Say it." My lips poised a kiss away from his cock. He bucked his hips trying to reach me but I grabbed him and held him down. "Say it," I repeated. 

He broke. "Pleasepleaseplease," reverberated around the room. 

I plunged my mouth down on his pulsing cock and let go of his hips. He thrust up and buried himself in me until the crinkly hair at his groin was tickling my lips. I sucked hard, scraping him with my teeth and running my tongue up, down and around the shaft. He grabbed my hair and yanked it hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. His insistent thrusting was gagging me but I didn't care. With one hand I stroked his belly; the other squeezed his balls in rhythm with my sucking. He was almost there. I felt his balls tighten and I sucked even harder. He shouted and warm salty liquid splashed the back of my throat and I swallowed until he was spent and going limp in my mouth.

My own neglected cock ached inside my jeans. I quickly pulled them down and lay on top of him, rubbing myself against his belly and groin. He pulled me into a kiss, tasting himself in my mouth. His tongue left my mouth and wandered to my ear, dipping in and out. Grasping my ass, he pulled me harder against him, whispering desperately, "Mulder, fuck me."

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes, please." With that he rolled me off of him and tugged at me, pulling me into a standing position. Turning his back, he leaned against the wall. I ran my hands under his t-shirt, up his back and down his muscular arms which were braced against the wall. Kneeling behind him, I pulled his jeans down to his ankles and slowly licked and kissed my way up his trembling legs. Small whimpering sounds erupted from him as I gently pried apart his ass cheeks and ran my tongue up the cleft, wetting it thoroughly. 

Standing, I spread the slick fluid leaking from my cock around it and then placed it against his waiting hole. He moaned and I thought about teasing him some more but I was too ready. I held his hips and pushed in slowly, steadily until I was all the way in.

I stood for a moment, wrapped in him, feeling the hot, soft, tight walls of his ass hugging my cock. He began flexing his muscles, working on my shaft from the inside, wringing a throaty moan from me as I began to thrust easily.

Krycek wasn't having it. He thrust back against me hard, reaching back to grab my hip. A fierce whisper in the darkness, "Harder, damn it." I smiled and pulled back until just the tip of my cock remained in his ass and then, slammed into him, rocking him forward. 

He cried out and his body danced in perfect rhythm with mine and I was lost. One arm I wrapped around his waist, pulling him to me, trying to get as close to him as I could. With the other hand, I stroked his fully hard cock in time to my thrusts. He was wrapped in me as I was in him. I was no longer sure who was who as we spiralled up and up and the cold and the dark and the confines meant nothing. Our voices mingled in a song of pleasure that rang off the stone walls. 

And then it was there, thundering through my body. I arched and wailed like a wolf at the moon as it hit. The man in my arms shuddered and cried as his life shot out of him, hitting the wall in front of him, marking it.

It seemed we stood for an eon, clutching at one another before I withdrew and pulled up my pants. He did the same and then reached for me in the darkness. The kiss was gentle, probing. We slid down the wall to the floor, neither wanting to let go of the other. This was our night, perhaps the last we'd have. 

I didn't know how long this was going to last. I didn't know what was going to happen to us. And at that moment, it really didn't matter. He had said earlier that I would need him in here. He was half-right. We needed each other. Together, we could ward off the cold, the fear and the dark. Both his and mine. 

  
Epilogue: The Way Home  
November 28, 1996

It figures. I can usually fall asleep on planes. Not this time. And I desperately want to sleep so I don't have to think. The last few days have been about survival and I didn't have time to think. Now... it's going to be a long flight. 

It's a good thing that I have the row of seats to myself because I think I'm going to cry. And here I thought my days of crying over Alex Krycek were long gone. He'd laugh if he could see this. The son of a bitch. He's done it to me again. 

No, let's be honest. I did it to myself. I believed him when I know he's incapable of telling the truth. He told me he loved me and I believed it. He told me he was going to try to get us out of there and I believed it. He left me in that cell. He let them....

Christ, I don't even really know what they did to me or what the effects will be. I have no memory of it. Thank God. At least that's one thing that I won't be cursed with reliving over and over. 

Did he sell me out? Did he tell me loved me that night and then the next day sell me to them? Is that what happened? He looked awfully cozy, standing there in that warm coat, schmoozing with the camp commander. 

Bastard. I should have killed him. I could have. I had the knife; I had him down. I could have just plunged it up to the hilt in his chest and ended his miserable, stinking life right there. I didn't and I don't even know why. Yes, I do. He was right. I'm not a killer.

Maybe someone else killed him or he got killed jumping off the truck or he died of exposure or ...it doesn't matter. Just let him be dead. Please. Don't let him come back. I can't stand the thought of having to see him again. It takes weeks to get my equilibrium back after each encounter. 

If I don't see him again, I can convince myself that I hate him. I can make myself believe it.

Please. I don't want to love him. It hurts too much. 

End.

 

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ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Fates Conspiring III: Curve Ball  
by Rosalita  
  
Rating: NC-17 Slash.   
M/M sex. If you're underage or are offended by the very idea of two men making love, turn back now.   
Category: SRA  
Spoilers: Patient X/The Red and the Black  
Keywords: Slash. Mulder/Krycek.  
Summary: Post-episode. Krycek won't leave Mulder alone until he gets what he wants. ;-)  
Archivists: I like to know where my stories are so please drop me a line before archiving. Thanks.  
Fox Mulder, Alex Krycek, and Dana Scully belong to Chris Carter and FOX Broadcasting. I'm borrowing them without permission. I promise to return them more or less in the condition I found them. No copyright infringement is intended.  
Feedback is appreciated and answered at . Flames will be ignored.   
This is dedicated to Uriel's Poet who thinks it's not nice to portray Mulder & Skinner as lovers. How about Mulder & Krycek?   
Good thing I've never claimed to be nice. ;-)

* * *

Fates Conspiring III: Curve Ball  
by Rosalita

'Tis all a checkerboard of nights and days  
Where Destiny with Men for pieces plays . . .   
     -The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

Someone was in my apartment. I felt it the minute I opened the door. I switched the brown paper bag to my left hand and automatically reached for my gun, unsure whether I really cared if whoever was there might be waiting to kill me. 

A familiar voice drifted from the living room. "You should change your locks, Mulder." Krycek. Inexplicably, I eased the gun back into its holster.

"I've changed them six times. Never seems to stop anyone." *Least of all you.*

Why the hell wasn't he dead? I'd hoped for it. Yearned for it. Stopped just this short of praying to a God I don't even believe in for it. Of all the things I did not need in my life, Alex Krycek was at the top of the list.

My shoes thudded on the floor when I kicked them off, struggling out of my jacket at the same time. It's hard when you've got a bottle in your hand, but I was unwilling to put it down, unwilling to lose track of it. It was my salvation tonight. They wanted to take my memories? Fine. I'd help them along a little. 

He was watching me--looking at me with worried expectation. "Well, did you find him?"

Damned tie was choking me; I yanked it off and let it flutter to the floor. "I was going to drink this straight out of the bottle, but since you're here . . . ." Get drunk with Krycek? Why the hell not? 

"Did you hear me, Mulder?" Krycek asked when I came into the living room carrying two glasses. 

Ignoring him, I pulled the bottle out of the bag with a flourish. "Russian vodka. In your honor, Alex." Mocking him as I liberally poured the clear liquid into two glasses. A toast was in order. "Pravda," I said and downed the liquor. It was smooth and it burned, and I wanted more. "Truth. Right, Alex?"

"Right," he said, eyeing me even more closely. "Mulder, are you okay?"

"Are you worried about me? That's so sweet." I poured another glass and sat down on the coffee table in front of him. "You know, I was telling Scully earlier about the inextricability of some relationships. Our relationship is like that, isn't it? It's beyond *my* control. Is it beyond yours?" The second glass of vodka burned its way down my throat. "Is it your destiny or mine?"

He blinked. "Maybe it's both. And you never answered my question." 

He definitely looked worried. Maybe he thought I was finally off the deep end and was afraid he wouldn't get what he wanted from me. So what? He was using me like everyone else. Fox Mulder, human chess piece. 

His next words just proved it. "Did you find him?"

"Who, the 'rebel'?" My fingers bent in quotation marks in the air. "I don't know." 

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know," I explained slowly so he would understand. "The last thing I remember before coming to in the back of a truck --with a bunch of soldiers pointing big guns at me -- was arriving at the base you sent me to." 

Fear shadowed his face; Krycek was scared. Good, God dammit, that made two of us. "Did you see anything in the truck?"

"An empty cell."

"Fuck!" Krycek catapulted off the couch and paced the floor. "Shit! They must have got him." During this exchange, I had downed my third drink and was pouring the fourth. Already feeling pretty out of focus. 

"Do you have any idea what this means?" he said. "We're fucked, that's what it means."

I was having a hard time working myself up to caring. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, the whole human race is going to go the way of the dinosaurs. Nothing we can do about it, Alex. Have a drink." I gestured toward Krycek's untouched glass. 

With an incredulous look, he grabbed the bottle from the table. "I don't need a drink, Mulder, and neither do you." He frowned at the bottle. "Do you have any idea how strong this stuff is?" 

"Of course I do. I asked for the strongest they had." The fourth drink disappeared in an instant. "I want to forget." I could barely get the words out. And not just because of the heavy amounts of alcohol I'd consumed on a empty stomach. "Just for a little while. Is that too much to ask?"

"No," Krycek said gently, kneeling on the floor before me. "But we don't have time for you to forget. I need you to remember." 

"I can't." It came out distressed, nearly a sob. "It's gone. Just like the time before." Shit. I was perilously close to breaking down--in front of Krycek.

"This has been done to you before?" he asked, completely innocent. Liar.

"Yes, as if you didn't know."

"I didn't." Then he reached for me, and my immediate reaction was to jerked back violently.

"Don't touch me, Krycek. We're not going to end up in bed." Not this time. 

Who was I kidding? Certainly not Krycek who was giving me a knowing little smile. Seeing right through me, plotting his way past my resolve. "I'm not trying to get you into bed; I just want to move you to the couch."

My suspicion must have shown because he said, "Look, Mulder, you are irresistible, but I'll try to keep my libido in check long enough for you to get some sleep."

"I'm not tired." It was automatic, like a child begging to be allowed to stay up past his bedtime.

Krycek grinned, on the verge of laughing at me. "I think you're going to pass out any minute and make the point moot."

He was right about that. "Okay," was all I could say. I let him help me settle on the couch.

So gentle. I remembered that about him. All the way back to that first time in Richmond. Then the second time in that frigid prison cell--anything but gentle. And he had told me he loved me. "Was everything you told me in Tunguska a lie?" 

"Not everything." Something like sadness colored his voice. "Get some sleep."

While he was tucking me in, I noticed something odd about the way he held his left arm. It hung stiffly by his side and it dawned on me that I hadn't seen him using it much. Before I could puzzle this out, blackness took me.

  
Next day, lunchtime and, Christ, my head hurt. Sunglasses did nothing to tame the yellow ball of fire in the sky that was turning my eyes into painful, molten goo. And the hot dog I was standing in line to order was no doubt going to make me puke. But I'd had to get out of the office, away from Scully's wise stare and constant inquiries about my health. I must have said "I'm fine" at least a dozen times.

That made it at least a dozen times that I got the pursed lips and the hard stare in return. And twice for the old, "You're not fine, Mulder."

Well, of course I wasn't fine. I was hung over, I couldn't remember what happened to me on that base, and it was starting to look as if there were aliens after all. Not to mention the fact that Alex Krycek was back in my life. Frankly, I was surprised that I wasn't curled in a fetal position screaming. 

My turn. I gave my order then jumped when I heard a familiar voice behind me say, "Make that two." 

Krycek. 

I could only stare as he pulled a $10 bill from his pocket and handed it to the vendor. "Keep the change." He bit into the hot dog and moaned. "God, I missed hot dogs."

I grabbed his arm and pulled him out of hearing range of others. "Are you insane? What are you doing here?" 

"We need to talk," he said around a mouthful of pure 100% pig parts. I watched amazed as he polished off the hot dog in very few bites. This was something I'd forgotten about him--the way he tore into his food like a pack of starving wolves. 

"Well, we sure as hell can't do it in front of the Hoover Building." He really was insane, standing just feet away from dozens of FBI agents happily munching on weiners. "If Scully sees you, she'll shoot you on sight. And I don't even want to guess what Skinner would do."

"Mulder," he grinned wide and mock coquettishly. "You really do care."

"Fuck you, Krycek." I started to walk away, but his hand reached for me and held me. 

"Sorry, Mulder," looking as if he almost meant it. "Listen, we have got to talk. You have no idea how serious this situation is."

"I know, it's the end of the world as we know it." I couldn't keep a sarcastic edge from the words. 

Watching his face was interesting. And not just because of its beauty. He was obviously surprised by my lack of caring and trying to figure out just what was wrong with me. Did he know? Did he know what it felt like to have the rug pulled out from under you? To believe so strongly in something, only to find out it wasn't real? Trust no one, indeed. I'd been duped so many times, I couldn't even trust myself anymore. Is it any wonder that I don't care?

"It very well could be," he said angrily. "I'm coming by your place tonight. You're going to talk to me. You owe me for the arm."

Christ. His left arm. Now I understood what I'd seen last night. The way he held the arm was stiff, unnatural looking. Not real. I felt sick and pissed off at him for manipulating me. But it worked. "Okay. We'll talk."

He nodded, then eyed my untouched hot dog. "You gonna eat that?"

I handed it over to him. "Nice to see that the impending destruction of life as we know it hasn't diminished your appetite." 

"The world's still here, Mulder, and a man's got to eat. I'll see you tonight." 

"I can hardly wait," I muttered to his back as he walked away.

  
"Did you remember anything yet?" greeted me that evening when I walked through my door. 

"No," I answered curtly. Goddamn Krycek. Black-clad figure--what is it with him and black--reclining on my couch, drinking my beer, watching my videos. 

Looking so damned good. 

I stalked over to the tv and slapped the off button.

"Hey," he protested, "it was just getting good." He sat up and swung his legs to the floor. The sleeve of his t-shirt revealed a small amount of soft flesh meeting the hard plastic prosthesis underneath. I tore my eyes away from it.

"You're not a guest," I reminded him. 

"Jeez, you're grumpy." 

"You think so? Scully saw you, idiot. Luckily, she wasn't wearing her glasses. I spent most of the afternoon hiding from her. She kept wanting to know who that guy was I was having lunch with." *Why won't you tell me who he was, Mulder?* She'd asked me repeatedly. Hours later I could still hear the suspicion in her voice. 

"Why didn't you just tell her it was me?"

Yeah, right. "I'm depressed, not suicidal."

"That's a relief to hear." Before I could process that, he stood, knocking a pillow off the couch as he rose. He bent to the left to retrieve it but couldn't quite grasp it with his prosthetic hand. Frowning, he twisted slightly to pick it up with his right hand. "I hate it when that happens," he said good-naturedly. 

"You're taking it well," I said.

Shrug. "You do what you have to do." 

How do you get used to having your body torn apart? How do you get used to having your life torn apart? I needed to know. "How do you get used to it?"

He looked at me strangely. "You just do. It's not going to grow back. What other choice do I have?"

None. And neither did I. Either I had to get used to my screwed up life or die. I'd been ready to die just a few months ago. It had been a very near thing. The ringing phone had been the only thing that stopped me. Too afraid that Scully was calling me, and I just couldn't bring myself to blow my brains out while she was on the other end.

I'd taken such drastic steps to stay alive--including killing a man--that it seemed almost obscene to kill myself now. 

I was startled to see Krycek standing very close to me. His forest green eyes held more compassion that I thought was in him. Sometimes I have to remind myself that he is human. I could smell him, he was so close. I could feel his skin next to mine even though we weren't touching. Involuntarily, I took a step backwards, gaining much needed distance between us. He pretended not to notice. 

"I was angry at first, I won't deny that. I blamed you." 

As if on cue, I felt the guilt rising. Reflex, I suppose. I stomped it down. Told myself that he didn't deserve my guilt. 

"You're so goddamned impetuous," he went on. "I was trying to get us out of there. If you'd just waited . . . "

Un-fucking-believable. "Waited for what?" I exploded. "For them to put that oil in me again? You let them do that." *You said you loved me, and you let them experiment on me.*

He reached out to touch me, then let his hand drop. "I couldn't stop them, Mulder. They were already suspicious of me." 

Memories of him embracing the Commandant of the camp just before I jumped him flashed in my mind. "Yeah, the Commandant looked real suspicious of you. So suspicious, in fact, that he gave you a warm coat to wear while the prisoners were freezing." 

He just nodded. "Whatever I've done in the past, I've paid for it. Believe me."

"You think losing an arm is payment for the loss of my father? Or Scully's sister?"

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose hard enough to leave a mark. "I've told you, Mulder, I didn't kill either of them."

"You also told me last night that not everything you told me in Tunguska was true." His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Evidently, he'd thought I was too drunk to remember. "What was true? And what was a lie? Can you even tell the difference?"

He ran his hand through his hair, tugging on it hard. "We've had this discussion before, and we really don't have time to have it again. You want to know about your father, Mulder? Do you?" Angry now, pacing impatiently. "Your father was a son-of-a-bitch. And you know it. I can't for the life of me figure out why you're still mourning him. He treated you like dirt."

"He was still my father." 

That stopped him and he looked at me, green eyes dark with sorrow. I wanted to hit him. "I know. But he gave your sister to them, and he let you take the blame."

"He never said it was my fault." Still defending my father although I knew that every word Krycek spoke was true. And I wasn't even surprised that he knew it. 

"Did he ever once say it wasn't?" He moved very close to me, and this time I couldn't back away. "Did he?" 

I shook my head. He hadn't. Nor had Mom. Ever. It was easier for them to let me shoulder the blame even though they knew all along that it was theirs alone. Perhaps it was their way of punishing me for being the one left behind. 

A rough hand cupped my cheek, thumb stroking gently, its touch barely perceptible. "You take the blame for everything. And people can use you because of it. Manipulate you. I should know. I've done it myself." 

I opened my mouth to tell him to go to hell but his lips on mine cut off my words. He pressed his mouth hard against mine and sucked my tongue into his mouth at the same time he pulled my body against his. He writhed slowly against me, grinding his hips. He was hard. So was I. 

Arousal cut through my body, sharp as a knife. My slutty, traitorous body reacted to the pleasant friction of his groin against mine. My hands traced the shapely muscles of his back, covered in soft cotton. Wandered up to his neck, cupping warm skin briefly before carding through his hair. It had grown, and it felt like feathers sliding through my fingers.

His kiss grew bolder, hungrier, feasting on me. Arm tightened around me, pulling me in. He was going to devour me, and I was going to let him.

No! This was not going to happen again. I levered my hands against his chest--resisting the urge to caress--and pushed him away from me. He stepped back, tongue darting out lick the taste of me off his lips. My knees loosened and nearly failed to keep me upright. 

"Get out." I told him, trying for coldness but knowing it came out as a plea.

He leered suggestively and reached down to adjust himself in his jeans. Peered up at me under those long lashes to make sure I was watching. Bastard. "Are you sure you want me to go, Fox?"

*No.* "Yes. And don't call me Fox."

Knowing smile as if he could hear what my body was saying. Knew what I really wanted him to do to me. And, sick bastard that I am, I'd have begged him to stay if he'd have pressed the point. But he didn't. 

In fact, he glanced at his watch and frowned. "It's your lucky day; I have to go. But I *will* be back. We still have to talk." With that threat/promise, he walked out my front door, closing it softly. I bit down hard on the urge to call him back. Forced my feet to stay where they were.

Listening to his retreating footsteps sound in the hall, I realized that I was no longer fighting my feelings for him. I'd accepted them without being aware of doing so. 

When had it happened? Last night when he kissed me? When he handed me back my gun and placed his life in my hands? Once more, I'd had the chance to kill him. No one would have blamed me. The man had broken into my apartment and assaulted me. He was a wanted felon, known to be dangerous. I would have been entirely justified in blowing him to kingdom come. 

In the end, I'd been unable to do it. The why of it didn't bear thinking about. None of it bore thinking about. Not Krycek. Not his talk of war in the heavens. Not the new gap in my memory. Not the intensity with which I wanted him. 

Especially not that. So I simply wouldn't think about it. 

Much.

  
The poster on my office wall mocked me, a bold declaration of my desire to believe. Even at the height of my newfound rationality, I hadn't taken it down. I told myself that I left it up as a reminder of how gullible I'd been. How easily my enemies had used my desire to manipulate me. A warning to myself: Don't get fooled again. 

Maybe---in spite of my scorn--I'd still wanted to believe. But just what was it that I wanted to believe? In aliens? That I'd see Samantha again someday? In myself? That Krycek wasn't going to turn me inside out again? 

Dammit, I couldn't go fifteen minutes without thinking of him. A week had gone by and he had not returned. The part of me that was relieved wanted to haul out the other part of me that was disappointed and kick its ass. Both parts knew that sooner or later he would be back. The question was: Which part of me would greet him? The one who wanted to smash his arrogant face in or the one who wanted to bend over for him? It was a toss up. Maybe if I beat my head hard enough against the wall, I could pound all thoughts of him out. Not a good idea. Scully would stop me from doing serious damage anyway, and I could hear the tapping of her heels down the uncarpeted hallway. 

She smiled at me as she entered the office. She's doing that a lot lately. Smiling, I mean. It's as if she thinks I'll disintegrate if she says a cross word to me. She wasn't even mad when we sat in Skinner's office the morning after our 'raid' on Wiecamp Air Force Base. She took the reaming we got with aplomb while I sat still hung over from the night before. She hadn't even been angry when I told her who had sent me there. Of course it was a measure of how out of it I was that night that I'd even told her. I think she was so glad that I was back to chasing aliens that she'd let Krycek's involvement in the whole debacle slide, for the moment. I doubt Skinner would have been so generous, but to my amazement, Scully told him we'd gotten an anonymous tip. It made me feel guilty that she was lying for me again and doubly guilty that she was lying about Krycek. I knew a reckoning would come on that subject someday. 

Maybe today. She sat down and smiled at me again. For some reason, that made my stomach clench. "Why didn't you ever take that down?" She nodded toward the poster. 

Scully's timing was, as always, impeccable. How does she do it? How does she know when to ask the one thing I don't want her to ask? I suppose I could have baffled her with my bullshit the way I usually do when she just comes right out and pegs me like that. But my bullshit was starting to tire *me* out so I opted for the truth.

I shrugged. "I guess you were right when you asked me if I really wanted to prove that everything I believed was a lie."

"You didn't answer me, as I recall. But then, you didn't have to; it was written all over your face. You still want to believe." 

"Problem is I don't know what to believe anymore."

She eyed me as if I were one of her more interesting specimens. "You believed Krycek. He told you to go to that base, and you went. Even though you claimed that you no longer believe in aliens. Even though you can't trust Alex Krycek as far as you can throw him. Why?"

That was a question I'd been asking myself frequently of late. "I don't know. He told me he'd been sent by someone else. Why would anyone send Alex Krycek to tell me anything? They'd have to know I would never believe a word he said."

"True. If someone else really sent him."

"Even if he came on his own, he'd still know I wouldn't believe him."

"So this man who you can not trust comes to you with a story of an interplanetary war. This man is a liar and you know it. And he knows that you know it. And for that reason, you think he's telling you the truth?" Her eyebrow had practically climbed to the top of her head during that speech. 

"Something like that." I grinned weakly. It sounded stupid even to me when put that way.

"Okay," she said softly, and I smiled. She was trying so hard, bless her heart. It must kill her sometimes to have to deal with my irrationality. Scully, the scientist, trained to dissect, to examine. Isn't that was she was doing? Trying to make me look at my actions objectively?

"What do you think you saw in that truck?" she asked suddenly.

"I don't know." What was she up to? We'd been over this several times before. 

"Why don't you know?"

"Because I can't remember." I said irritably. 

"Exactly. Doesn't it stand to reason that if they went to the trouble of taking your memory, you must have seen something?"

"What are you saying, Scully? That you believe I saw an alien in that truck?"

"I didn't say that, Mulder. I only said that you must have seen something worth taking your memory for. You have to decide if you believe it was an alien or not." 

Perhaps that was the problem. I had to decide what I believed. And that was no longer easy. Believing had always been intrinsic before. It didn't require thought, it didn't require a decision. It was a part of me. Now I was having to pick and choose. I do believe this. I don't believe that. Exhausting, to say the least. 

"Mulder," Scully was saying, "it might be a good idea for you to take some time off, get a little perspective." She said this very fast, unwilling to let me get a word in until she'd finished. "This can't have been easy on you. You're at a crossroads now, and you have to take the time to decide where you're going from here." 

"Maybe you're right," I said, leaving her speechless as I reached into my desk drawer for a leave request form.

  
I stopped at the entrance of the living room. "Maybe I should just give you a key." Despite my irritation, I felt a small thrill at the sight of Krycek but tried to suppress it.

"Might make things easier," he agreed. "But then again, your neighbors don't seem to think it's strange to see some guy picking your locks."

"Living near me has made them jaded." I leaned against the doorway wearily.

He let out a breath that could have been a laugh if he hadn't been so tense and fidgety. "A lot of people are very nervous," he finally said. "No one knows what happened to the rebel. Except you and you can't remember. Of course, the fact that you're alive at all supports the theory that the rebel was rescued. If that's so, then there is still a chance to resist. We need your help, Mulder."

First Cassandra Spender, now Krycek. "What is with everybody? I'm not the world's savior. I can't be. I don't want to be."

"You may not have a choice, Mulder. It might be your destiny."

"What am I? Luke fucking Skywalker?"

He snorted. "You're the closest thing we've got to him. Remember when I told you that you were important to the Consortium? Maybe this is why."

"Leave me alone." I straightened up and started for the bedroom to change my clothes. 

Before I could even move, he was right in my face. "This is it, Mulder. Don't you get it? This is what you've been searching for. Aliens. They exist. And they're not nice guys. Do you want to be a slave?"

"I am a slave. I've been one my whole life. I've been a slave to my father's anger and my mother's sorrow. I've been a slave to a 25-year-old memory that I'm not even sure is real. And a slave to my own beliefs. I've let other people dictate the course of my life. So don't talk to me about slavery."

Green eyes flashed. He grabbed me and pushed me until my back was against the wall. I'd never seen him so angry. "Lose the martyr complex, Mulder," he spat at me, his one hand tightening on my bicep. "You don't have a clue what it's like to not have control over your own body. That thing made me give the tape to that smoking bastard. It could have made me do anything, and I wouldn't have been able to resist. It's what they do, Mulder. It's how they control a planet's population. It's what they'll do to all of us if we don't fight them."

"I can't help you, Krycek. Now, get your *hand* off of me." I knew that would piss him off. He wanted to hit me, I could tell. I wished he would. It would make it easier to forget just how good it felt to have his body against mine. Take my mind off of my budding erection and the one I felt pressing against my thigh. But he just let me go and stepped back a little. 

"It's not me you'll be helping, Mulder," he said calmly. "It's the whole damn human race."

"Now you're the one who isn't getting it. I *can't*. I don't have it in me anymore. I just don't care anymore."

"I don't believe that."

"No matter what I say, no one believes me," I muttered to myself.

"I don't believe that, Mulder, because I know better. I know you. I've studied you, remember?" He leaned in and his hand brushed my cheek. I was unable to turn away so I closed my eyes. His voice was so soft, so gentle. "You're afraid to care, and God knows I don't blame you for that." 

He was right, of course. Every time I cared, something bad happened. It was better not to. Look where caring about him had gotten me. 

My cheek burned pleasantly where his rough fingers stroked it. I knew his mouth was just millimeters from mine. All I had to do was lift my head ever so slightly, and I'd make contact with those beautiful lips.

It was such a struggle not to lift my head, not to touch him. Whenever I looked at him, I saw two men, one I loved and one I hated. Alex, the long lost lover who haunted my days, and Krycek, the incubus who tormented my sleep.

He was whispering now in the hushed tones most people reserved for a church. "You're dying, Mulder. You're dying, and you don't even realize it." Easier to look at him now that he was speaking. "You've lost your faith, and it's killing you." Those soft, warm lips grazed mine now, lightly then fluttered away. "I can help you. I can bring you back to life. I can make you care again."

If only that were possible. 

He was wrong; I knew my loss of faith was killing me. And he thought he'd be the one to bring me back from the brink? When he was the one who'd set so much of it in motion? Was he insane? 

Was I?

And if it is my destiny to save the world, is his to make sure I survive long enough to do it?

Is that why God, if He exists, threw me the exquisite curve ball that is Alex Krycek? 

"Take your clothes off, Mulder. It'll be a lot easier if you do it." His voice startled me. It was then that I noticed that he was attempting to remove my tie. I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell he was doing, and he took advantage again and kissed me. Soft lips working mine just as they had the last night he'd been here. And just like that night, I was coming undone.

Damn him, damn him! Why do I let him to this to me? Why do I let him invade my life, tie me in knots, kiss me this way? 

Just as I thought my legs would give out, he let me go. He grinned as I staggered, trying to keep my feet. Bastard. "Take your clothes off," he ordered again in a whisper and sat down on the couch. Reaching out with his right hand, he pulled me forward to stand between his legs.

I'd never really undressed for someone before. I mean, someone who was watching me as intently as Krycek was. His eyes held an awed light, as if he could hardly believe this was happening. Strange and arousing at the same time. 

I peeled my clothing off slowly. Not teasing, really, just trying to delay the inevitable, I guess. Hoping that this momentary lapse of reason would be over soon and I could throw him the hell out of my apartment. 

It didn't help. I was naked soon enough, and he ran his hand slowly up my right leg, all the while not taking his eyes off my face. Almond-shaped eyes, the light in the room casting them in a sparkling emerald--deep, beautiful, and so full of lies. I didn't want to see them so I looked away, sighing in pleasure at his touch on my inner thigh. So quiet was the room that I imagined that I heard the hair on my leg rustling in the path of his hand. He paused teasingly near my cock until I looked at him again, then he grinned and moved away from my groin to trace the crevice between thigh and body. I trembled when his tongue followed the path his hand had just taken. Wet and warm, he licked and sucked at the area until I was on the verge of begging him to touch me.

Bastard must have ESP; he slid his palm over my erection, then down to the base and back up. His grip was light and teasing. I let out a moan and grabbed for his shoulders. Held on tight when his tongue lashed out, whipping back and forth across the head of my cock. Wrapping his good arm around my waist, he held me trapped as my cock slid down his throat. Shit, oh shit! He was swallowing and it was so wet and so warm and I was getting close and . . . .

His mouth pulled away, and I grabbed his hair and tried to drag it back but he shook me off, laughing. That talented tongue slithered its way up my body until he was standing in front of me. Waiting for me to make the next move. Krycek never makes it easy for me. Always wanting me to know that I desire him as much as he desires me. Strips my defense, makes it impossible for me to rationalize our lovemaking away. Sex, I correct myself. It's not lovemaking, it's sex. 

Who am I kidding? 

Giving in as I always do, I removed his shirt and ran my hands up his flat belly to his muscled chest. The softness of his skin surprised me as always. He was thinner than he'd been last time I saw him. The cuisine in Russia must not have suited him. 

Both nipples perked up when I fingered them, placed my lips to them one by one. His breath sucked in and his whole body stiffened when I kissed my way across his throat to the shoulder of his damaged arm. I slid my hand down over his flesh to the hard plastic prosthesis and started to remove it. 

His hand gripped mine. "Leave it!" he snarled. 

Not so used to it as he claimed. "I need to see it, Alex," I said, startling myself by using his first name without any mocking and while completely sober. "Please." After all, this had nearly been my fate as well. Try as I might not to, I felt at least a little responsible for what had happened to him. 

"You're sick, Mulder," he muttered as he hesitantly removed the false limb. Guess he thought I'd run screaming or something. He dropped the arm to the floor and looked at me defiantly. Asymmetrical and achingly beautiful, he was the incubus I imagined him to be. None but a demon could be so seductive and so dangerous. One of us would kill the other some day. It was a sucker bet. But until then, this bizarre relationship would continue. Neither of us could stop it. He didn't want to, and I didn't have the strength.

"Turn off your brain for a little while, Mulder," he said drily, pushing me gently to my knees. His jean-clad erection was at eye level, and I wasted no time unbuttoning him, kissing hot, hard flesh as it was revealed. No underwear, as usual. I didn't want to release him just yet so I ran my tongue over his trapped penis, licking, sucking, and nibbling. Remembering how I'd teased him in that cold prison cell in Russia. 

Apparently, he remembered too. He gasped out, "No teasing this time, you bastard," and pushed me away from him. As I was trying not to fall on my ass, he stepped around me and after shoving the coffee table out of the way, knelt behind me. 

Steadying me, he directed, "Lean against the couch." 

I did what he told me knowing what was coming. He was going to fuck me. And I was going to let him. My cock throbbed, an electric shot of arousal ricocheted through me. I wanted him to fuck me. I needed him to fuck me. I did need to turn off my brain and this was the way to do it. 

Nothing was happening behind me. I could hear his panting breaths. I turned my head, "Are you going to get on with this or what?"

He laughed mockingly, "Patience, Agent Mulder. I'm just admiring your ass. It's a beauty." 

Fire crept up my face, and he saw it before I could turn away. "Does that embarass you? You don't like compliments?"

"I don't get many," I said tightly, wishing he'd just shut up and fuck me. 

"Really?" His voice was mocking. "Scully doesn't say nice things to you?"

"Leave Scully out of this," I said between clenched teeth. 

"Relax, Mulder." His hand slid along my spine leaving a shiver in its wake. "You don't have a clue, do you? You just don't know how gorgeous you are. All of the women and half of the men in the Bureau want to boff you." 

Light fingers drifted across my ass, raising gooseflesh that was not unpleasant. "And who can blame them," he added.

"Krycek," I growled.

"I don't remember your being this demanding before. Been a while?" He sounded distracted. Good, because I wasn't about to answer him. Couldn't tell him that the last time I'd had sex had been with him in Tunguska. I looked back; he had his jeans pinned to the floor with his knees while he fished around in the pockets. He smiled triumphantly when he pulled out a condom and a bottle of lube. Smart man, he'd bought the kind with the flip top. 

He handed them both to me and said, "You don't mind do you?" I rolled the condom on him quickly, then put a large dollop of the lube in his outstretched hand and watched him spread it on his cock. He held his hand out for more. I knew where this portion was going, so I squeezed the bottle liberally. 

"You're going to have to brace yourself against the couch. I can't hold you and do this at the same time," he said with a tinge of regret.

The first finger went in slowly, carefully. It moved in ever deepening circles, then in and out. A second finger was added, and the pleasure was doubled. I couldn't stop myself from crying out from the pleasure that zipped through me when he touched me deep inside, striking again and again until I was moaning constantly, and he was panting.

I was momentarily empty while he replaced his fingers with the head of his cock. His whole body covered my back and he murmured, "I want to kiss you." I turned my head to meet his hungry lips. Awkward as hell in this position but our lips and tongues played together eagerly as he pushed into me. 

It had been nearly four years since I'd felt this fullness, this possession. Sure, I'd had sex since that night in Richmond but nothing to compare to this. Nothing that felt this good, this right. Why did it have to come from this man? Why did I have to crave this man's touch? This man's kiss? This man's cock? 

He was taking me gently. Much more gently than I'd taken him that last time. Hips moving in those same little circles that his finger had, just moments before. Thrusting into me with a leisurely pace that was turning my body to a quivering mass of jelly. Hand on my cock now, stroking in time with his thrusts. Lips pressed to the nape of my neck, wet kisses. I moved in counterpoint to him, taking him all, pushing back, trying to get him in deeper. My hands dug into the leather of my couch, holding on for dear life. 

"God!" I gasped.

Chuckle from behind me. "You don't believe in God, Mulder."

He leaned forward onto my body, using it to brace himself as his thrusts picked up speed and power, all gentleness lost as we both strove for completion. His weight on my back effectively pinned me to the couch and limited my movements. The sudden restraint was exciting as hell, and I realized that I was going to come very soon. So did Krycek. He shifted ever so slightly, sending his cock crashing into my prostate with each thrust as his hand tightened on me.

"Feel that, Mulder. Feel it," he growled in my ear, thrusting hard, squeezing my cock. He wasn't just talking about the sex. "Do you feel it?"

"Yes, damn you!" I wailed as I came hard. I felt everything. I felt my seed rushing from my body, splashing my chest. I felt his body jerk as his orgasm hit. Felt the rumble in his chest, although I couldn't hear his shout. Felt his love and my love. And his hatred and my hatred. I felt and I felt and I felt until I didn't want to feel anymore. Until I hated him all over again for making me feel. 

We knelt on the floor for a long time after, both shaking but for different reasons. I felt him slip out of me and his weight lift from my back. He half dragged me into the bedroom--awkward for a man with only one arm--and that's where I woke up the next morning. 

Krycek was fully dressed, sitting in the corner of the room. When he saw I was awake, he stood. "Time for me to go." 

"This has to stop, Krycek," I told him when he didn't make a move to actually leave. "I can't keep doing this. I'll help you with your war. But this can't happen again."

He actually looked hurt. "You don't mean that. You want this as much as I do."

"That's precisely why it can't happen again. This is sick, Krycek. Surely you realize that." 

He smiled. "Of course I realize it." He headed for the bedroom door, paused, "See you, Mulder."

"Damn it, Krycek, I mean it!" 

"Sure you do, Mulder." His laughter carried all the way into the living and was only silenced by the closing of the front door. 

End

6/24/98


End file.
